


Glory Days

by marchingjaybird



Category: DCU - Comicverse, Justice Society of America (Comics)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-07
Updated: 2012-04-07
Packaged: 2017-11-03 04:48:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/377455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marchingjaybird/pseuds/marchingjaybird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything changes, everything stays the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Glory Days

The smell of fresh clipped grass hung heavy in the humid air, fresh and sharp and a strange sensory relief in the face of what promised to be a hot summer day. Along the borders of the field, azaleas drooped, heavy with blossoms and surrounded by the lazy drone of fat honeybees. It would have been entirely restful if not for the laughter and shouting that filled the air. From where Alan sat, tucked up against the trunk of a tree, the impromptu baseball game unfolding in the center of the field was just distant enough that he was having to guess at most of what was said.

As well as he knew Ted Grant, however, that was not difficult.

Ted, on the pitcher's mound, was shaking the ball at Karen. Alan's mind filled in the details. "Listen, sweetheart, we've only got so many baseballs. Damage knocked one into the lake" - at this point Ted took a moment to gesture emphatically towards what only a very generous mind could term a lake - "and Maxine... I don't even know where Maxine's _went_ " - and now he paused to glower at the beaming teenager, who was balanced on a single foot on second base - "so for the sake of my sanity, can ya just hit the ball like a normal person? Please?"

Karen - whose street clothes did not disguise her powerful musculature even a little - saluted him and gripped the bat. Even if she hadn't been Kryptonian, Alan wouldn't have wanted to pitch to her. She had better arms than most pros.

He picked up a sweating glass of water from its home in the grass and took a sip, smiling over the rim as Karen hit the ball so hard that it disintigrated before it could get properly started on its journey through the stratosphere. Her team cheered as first Maxine and then Karen trotted across home plate. Ted just cradled his head in his hands.

Jay stepped up to the plate next and Ted's shoulders straightened a little. Finally someone who couldn't knock the precious ball off the planet! Jay had his ways, though, and as the entire game had degenerated into everyone trying to drive Ted mad by not quite cheating, Alan knew he wouldn't be able to resist. He hit the ball a respectable distance, a double in any ordinary game but by the time Alan blinked once, Jay had circled the bases once and was posing on home just long enough for everyone to count the run before taking off again.

His team got up to six before he decided that was enough and stopped, taking a bow. Ted, clearly unimpressed by his display and, at this point, very nearly apoplectic, pointed away from the field in an unmistakable gesture. Laughing, Jay patted him on the shoulder and trotted off the field to a chorus of mingled cheers and booing.

It was all very ordinary, the sort of thing that normal people did on a beautiful summer day. Hard to believe, looking at them now, that they were a group of heroes, that they routinely faced down people who actively wanted to kill them. Alan stared at Jesse and Rick; not even four days ago, Jesse had beat the hell out of a group of thugs after they'd gotten the drop on Rick and knocked him out cold. You'd never know it to look at them now, standing in the sun and laughing, Rick with his arms around his wife's waist. They looked like nice, normal people doing nice, normal things.

"You look like you're thinking too hard," Jay said, dropping onto the grass next to Alan. Years of knowing Jay had conditioned Alan not to be surprised when he popped up out of nowhere. It was simply one of the perils of friendship with a Flash.

"Don't I always?" Alan answered. Jay grinned and settled back against the tree, close enough for comfort, not enough for impropriety. After all they'd been through, he was still wary of public perception. Alan didn't blame him. People were eager to tear down their heroes for slights and trespasses real or imagined. He didn't like to think what they would do if they knew the full extent of his relationship with Jay.

Unable to stop himself now he was thinking about it, Alan turned his head slightly to study the other man. The years had been good to Jay - as they had been to all of them, truly, but Jay moreso than most. He had the same strong profile he'd sported as a young man, but what marks of age he had accumulated enhanced his features rather than detracting from them. The crow's feet that radiated out from his eyes suggested laughter; the fine lines framing his mouth lent him a firmness, a sense of authority. He was undeniably no longer a young man, but his jaw was still firm, his eyes still bright.

Bright, and turning on Alan. There was a faint, mocking smile on Jay's face and he reached up to brush the hair at his temples. "What? Do you see a gray hair?" Alan rolled his eyes and refocused his attention. The game was continuing fitfully; clearly no one had explained the rules to Thom and he was staring at the bat as if judging how best to throw it across the field.

"He tries this every year," Alan said, taking another sip of his water. He offered it to Jay without being asked.

"The eternal optimist," Jay agreed. "I wouldn't know it was summer without the annual Ted Grant Has A Baseball Related Meltdown In The Park display." Alan smiled wryly, accepted the water back. He had long since stopped trying to participate in the game, doomed to failure as it was, but he understood why Ted did it. Their time together was fleeting; sure, they might know one another for years, but to work with the same costumed heroes on a regular basis was damn near unheard of. People retired, got married, moved house, joined other teams. Died. Alan closed his eyes and tried not to think of it. It was a beautiful day and mourning was best left for when one was alone.

But yes. He understood perfectly why Ted put himself through this every year. Something like this, the playful chaos, the laughter, the teasing, it stuck with you. Fighting next to someone forged bonds, but laughing with them made those bonds damn near unbreakable.

Jay touched his hand, just a light brush, warm fingers across the backs of his knuckles. "Alan. You're staring off into space again." Alan smiled, turned his hand to grasp Jay's quick fingers and hold them tight. It was a rare display of public affection and Jay favored him with a lopsided smile. "What's going on in your head?"

"All kinds of things," Alan admitted. "But none of them are important." He didn't care to rehash bitter memories with Jay, who would accuse him of moping. Which he was doing, instead of enjoying the day; it was hard, though, not to see the faces that were missing, or hear the silences where someone's laughter ought to be. He thought about Jennie without meaning to and his hand tightened its grip, crushing Jay's fingers against his palm.

"Alan, don't," Jay warned. It was enough to stop him in his tracks, the sound of Jay's voice, the fact that he knew exactly which paths Alan's mind walked on a regular basis. He looked at Jay, then, really looked at him. They had been together for so long, teammates, best friends. More. They had never really said it, never sat down and discussed what they thought they were doing. It had simply happened, after an eternity of almost and maybe, Jay in his lap moving so slowly that it had driven them both mad.

It was in Jay's eyes, too, the weight of all of those memories, the joy and the pain. Alan remembered the way Jay's hands trembled against his chest, remembered wondering if it was desire or just the natural vibration of a speedster trying to slow down. He leaned close, pressed a kiss to Jay's neck just below his ear. If anyone were to look at them, he would only seem to be whispering, his lips pressing words into Jay's skin that he doubted he would ever say out loud.

Alan settled back against the tree, heavy and light all at once, and their fingers laced together, hidden behind Jay's long leg. "Do you want to come over for dinner tonight?" Jay murmured. "I think Joan is making spaghetti." Alan nodded. He had long since ceased to find it odd that Jay's wife welcomed him into her husband's bed. She said it was because sometimes she just couldn't keep up with him. Alan suspected that, like him, it brought her a measure of peace to know that Jay was content. It was too complex to fathom, emotions tangled into a sort of Gordian knot. Alan had long since resolved to let it be.

Across the field, the game seemed to be on hiatus. After a brief conference with Ted, Courtney was dispatched. She trotted across the field, stopping in front of them and grinning broadly. "Ted says you can come back to the game if you want," she said. Jay released Alan's hand and stood.

"Yeah? Felt bad about throwing me out?" he asked. 

"Nope," Courtney answered cheerfully. "But he says everyone is cheating, so he might as well have cheaters that actually know the rules." Jay snorted and turned back to Alan, raising a hand. The sun shone through his fingers, so that each digit was surrounded by a halo of light. The tip of Alan's tongue touched his upper lip, a gesture which Jay both saw and understood, if his raised eyebrows were any indication.

"I'll see you tonight," Jay said, falling in step behind Courtney. "Seven."

"I'll be there," Alan answered. The air seemed fraught with all of the things he didn't say. But Jay knew. Jay had always known. He tipped a salute and then turned to Courtney, slapping her lightly on the back.

"Wanna race?" he asked, and her cries of foul play chased him all the way back to the field.


End file.
